


White ash

by cherrymoons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eater Harry Potter, F/M, Harry Potter Goes to Durmstrang, M/M, OOC, The Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:53:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29091582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrymoons/pseuds/cherrymoons
Summary: Igor Karkaroff persuades Harry to join Durmstrang, intending to later give him to the Dark Lord. Well, once he’s reborn. Until then our hero has several years to learn, have fun, and love.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort, Viktor Krum/Harry Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Белый пепел](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8369476) by [E_Godz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Godz/pseuds/E_Godz). 



> Hi, this is a translation of the wonderful fic White ash by E_godz (you should all give it a read), I hope the translation stays true to the story, please correct me if it does not make sense. I don't know Russian, so I am translating this with google translate and then just fixing up the grammar and text afterward so I don't know how good or reliable it will be, I don't have a beta reader so please let me know if you see mistakes. I will aim to upload at least two translated chapters every month. Have a good read! :)

**Prologue**

This July evening was no different from the usual evenings at the Dursley household, located on number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. The head of the family, Vernon Dursley, watched TV while his wife, Petunia finished washing the dishes after dinner. Their son, Dudley, marched through the living room in his brand-new school uniform. In September, Dudley was to enroll at Smeltings Private School. The students of this institution wore maroon dress coats, orange breeches, and flat straw hats. They also had sticks with which they hit each other behind the teachers' backs. The parents admired the boy, completely forgetting that another child lives in their house, Petunia's nephew Harry Potter. He became an orphan at a very young age. Being his only living relatives, they took him to live with them out of mercy and were very burdened by his presence.

However, nothing in this house indicated that little Harry lived here. There were no photographs of him on the walls, no awards, he did not even have his own room, and a ten-year-old boy lived in a cramped cupboard under the stairs. The Dursleys did not love the son of their dead relatives at all, humiliating and punishing him in every possible way. Harry didn't understand the reason for their hatred, Until this evening.

Because at precisely six in the evening, a very odd guest knocked on the door of the house. When Harry opened the door, he saw a man of about thirty in front of him. He had a long, thin face, a goatee, and attentive brown eyes. The stranger wore strange clothes - either a cloak or a dress trimmed with fur. In his hands, the man was holding something like a staff with a carved top. His fingers studded with massive rings. The boy silently looked at his guest, trying to cope with his surprise.

“Who’s there, boy?” Uncle Vernon shouted from the other room, bringing his nephew into himself. Harry hesitated awkwardly and asked timidly,

"Excuse me, but who are you?"

”My name is Igor Karkaroff, and you are Harry Potter?” The guest asked coldly with a noticeable accent. While the boy was examining the newcomer, he was eyeing him no less closely.

”Yes, sir.”

”May I come in?” Mr. Karkaroff asked politely, but not kindly.

“Come in, sir.”

Igor entered the house decisively and went to the living room where all the Dursleys were. Harry closed the door behind the guest and hurried into the room after him. This man was too interesting, not to mention that he was strange. Harry has met people in similar clothes who always paid attention to him, which really infuriated his Aunt Petunia. Sometimes Harry thought that perhaps his parents were not alcoholics at all, as his Aunt and Uncle claimed, but some sort of sectarians.

“Good evening,” the guest of the house greeted coldly. Harry heard Uncle Vernon jump up from his chair, and Aunt Petunia scream in dismay. “I am Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute. Although you Muggles certainly don't know what it is.”

“We know,” Mrs. Dursley said through clenched teeth. Harry, lurking at the entrance to the room, looked at her in surprise. Never before had there been so much fear and hatred on his Aunt’s face. She grabbed Dudley and hid her son behind her back. “You have nothing to do here, Mr. Karkaroff.”

“Why not?” He smiled arrogantly. “Mr. Potter is almost eleven and is already showing his abilities.”

“He has no abilities!” Uncle Vernon shouted. “We beat all this nonsense out of him!”

“Oh really? Beat?” Igor flashed his eyes and bravely took a step towards the pouring anger of Mr. Dursley. "Do you know what wizards like me do to over-the-top Muggles?"

“How dare you ?!” Shouted Vernon. “The boy lived here at my expense for ten years! I fed and clothed him!”

“Thank you for that,” Karkaroff chuckled. “And now it's my turn to take care of him.”

"Sorry" Harry whispered from the door. He understood that the adults were quarreling over him, but he did not know the reason. Does this man want to take him away from the Dursleys? Harry had dreamed of this for years, but would he be worse off with this man? And what is Durmstrang?

Karkaroff turned to his whisper and announced:

“Mr. Potter, the Durmstrang administration, and the Board of Trustees have found it possible to enroll you among our students.”

“Students?” Harry asked fearfully. The Dursleys' long-standing promises to send him to a mental hospital or a school for delinquent teens flashed through his head. Of course, they didn't send him, but did they suddenly change their minds? 

“No sir! I do not want to go. I'm normal! I'll be good! Please, you don't need to take me to the hospital.” he pleaded while retreating from the room.

“A hospital?” Karkaroff blinked in bewilderment. “Mr. Potter, Durmstrang is one of the three most prestigious schools of wizardry in Europe.”

“Magic?” Harry repeated in shock.

“There is no such thing as magic!” Dudley shouted from behind his mother.

Karkaroff looked at the family in surprise. Only now did he pay attention to the ratty clothing of the young wizard in front of him, the calluses on his hands, his thinness, and bruises. He now noticed the absence of his photographs. Still, Igor was by no means stupid, otherwise, he could never have become the headmaster of the school.

“Do you know that you are a wizard?” He muttered in inspiration. His lips crept upward in a smile as he realized the potential ahead of him. “They didn't tell you who you are!”

“Who am I, sir?” The boy asked in confusion.

“Who are your parents, Mr. Potter?” Karkaroff asked quickly.

"Lily and James Potter," Harry replied warily. “They died in a car accident when I was little.”

“And the scar on your forehead?...”

“I got it in the same accident.”

“Oh, Merlin…” Karkaroff muttered.

He received information about the place of residence of the most famous child in the wizarding world by accident and at first, he just wanted to see it, but today Igor came up with quite definite intentions. He was going to use young Harry and his naivety. Igor wanted to take the boy away from under Dumbledore's sly nose, at first it seemed to him that it would be difficult to turn the child against the light wizards to whom he belongs.

But the boy doesn't even know that he is a wizard! What prospects are opening up! How could Albus have missed this? Of course, the boy is assigned to Hogwarts from birth, but it is not so difficult to get his guardians to change schools, and then order them to write a refusal when a letter from Hogwarts arrives.

Karkaroff burst out laughing. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, will provide him, Igor, with life when the Dark Lord returns. Karkaroff was going to give him the boy as an apology for betrayal! What would become of the boy later, whether he would die or accept the mark, Igor did not care. And if the Dark Lord never returns, then it’s also good to become a confidant for the famous Harry Potter. He will push the boy into the world and receive his gratitude.  
“Sir,” Harry called to the laughing man uncertainly, noting that the Dursleys were too scared of what was happening to say a word. Karkaroff stopped laughing and suddenly pulled out a beautiful wooden stick from the depths of his strange clothing.

"There is magic," he told Harry with a satisfied smile. Harry did not have time to think that Mr. Karkaroff was still not entirely normal, for he waved his wand and the chair in the middle of the living room turned into a real sheep, which immediately began to pitifully cry. Dudley joined the helpless animal's scream, and Harry gasped in delight. “Harry Potter, you are a wizard. And I invite you to study at the best school of magic in Europe, Durmstrang, where I work as Headmaster” said Igor, catching the boy's chin with his fingers.  
Harry could barely contain his excitement, his eyes glowing, and his face broke into a smile. At that moment Karkaroff realized that Mr. Potter would soon become a very attractive young man. It didn't matter if the Dark Lord returned, but all options had to be considered. Perhaps someday good looks will play into the hands of Harry and his Headmaster.  
“Our school maintains high standards,” he said, looking Harry in the eye. “So, either you will be very good at school and obey your elders, or we will exclude you.”  
Of course, Igor would not have done anything like this, but it didn’t hurt to scare the boy a little so that he would not forget his place.  
“I understand, sir.” the child nodded in dismay. “But I have no money at all for textbooks and uniforms.”  
“I won't give a pound!” Vernon Dursley shouted.  
Karkaroff gave him a scornful glance.

“The Potters were not poor people. They probably had a bank account. If that is not the case, the school will provide a loan.”  
“But he is assigned to Hogwarts,” Petunia suddenly said. “Lily and James studied there…”  
“Obviously, the friends of the Potter couple and the teachers of this revered school don't really want to see Harry there,” Igor grinned. He was willing to bet his entire fortune on the fact that Dumbledore and the others would wait for Harry, but the boy did not need to know about it. Let him think that he was betrayed, that he was abandoned. Karkaroff must appear before him as a savior who sent the child into a fairy tale. “All you need to do is sign the documents. As his guardian, you can send your nephew to another school. Mr. Potter, what do you think of this? Would you like to study in Durmstrang?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry did not think to refuse. He did not know anything about Hogwarts, no one from there gave Harry news. On the other hand, if he refuses Mr. Karkaroff, he may leave and never return, and that can’t happen. He saw Aunt Petunia frowning, but she was often angry over trivialities, as it turns out she even lied about his parents. So Harry was in no hurry to listen to her opinion.  
Meanwhile, Igor told the Dursley’s “This is a great way to get rid of your nephew, as he is supposedly such a burden. From September to June he will be at school, returning home only for the summer holidays. Isn't this beneficial for you too?”  
Harry saw his relatives hesitate, and he silently prayed to unknown forces that they would agree to send him. Magic! He always knew that he was not like everyone else, not ordinary, but he did not suspect that he was magical. He could not wait to plunge into an unknown world. He looked at his Aunt and mentally begged her.  
“Okay,” Petunia finally breathed out. “Where do we need to sign?”  
Karkaroff grinned triumphantly and took a roll of parchment from the folds of his robes. The Dursleys rushed to put their signatures on it using ordinary Muggle pens, surprising the headmaster of the magic school. And after a few minutes, Igor was already saying goodbye to him.

“I'll pick you up tomorrow, Mr. Potter,” he said and patted the boy through his hair, a sign of his good mood. “We’ll go to the bank and then go shopping.”  
As soon as the strange man went beyond the threshold of the house, he twisted beautifully, shaking the flaps of his robes, and disappeared into thin air.   
There is still a sheep in the living room, munching unhappily at the end of the carpet.  
Simultaneously, the book of souls, which for many generations has helped Hogwarts find students and send them invitations to study, lost the line with the inscription "Harry James Potter". Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, never wrote the invitation herself. She enchanted the pen, which dutifully copied the names of all students who were due to enter the new year from the book of souls.  
Nobody wrote a letter to young Harry.

**Chapter 1**

The next morning, Harry made his usual breakfast and washed the dishes. Aunt Petunia no longer gave him any chores, apparently fearing the wrath of the wizards, and sent him to his cupboard, where Harry spent most of his life, to wait for Headmaster Karkaroff. Dudley immediately after breakfast ran off to his friend Piers Polkiss, and Uncle Vernon went to London to get rid of the sheep. Last night, after the strange guest left, his Uncle and Aunt had a long fight in the living room, away from the children. The visitor took them by surprise, otherwise, the Dursleys would have shown him more resistance. Judging by what he managed to overhear, Vernon suggested that they run away from the house so that the wizards could not find them. But Aunt Petunia objected, saying that they would be found quickly anyway, and things would only get worse. 

Harry couldn’t wait to see Mr. Karkaroff again and go with him into the wizarding world. He really wanted to ask the Headmaster about his parents and buy magic things for the school. He hardly slept at night for fear that when he woke up, everything would just be a dream.

In anticipation, Harry went through his small wardrobe, choosing to wear his more decent clothing. Unfortunately, all of Dudley's castoffs were equally too big for him. 

Hour after hour passed, and it seemed to Harry that no one would come. When At last, there was a knock on the door. Harry jumped out of the closet and hurried to let the guest into the house.

“Hello, sir!” He greeted happily.

"Mister Potter," Igor nodded. “First, let's go to the living room, we need to discuss something.”

He walked confidently to where they had spoken yesterday. Looking around with disgust, the director settled down on the sofa. He did not invite Harry to sit down either, and the boy was left awkwardly shifting from foot to foot in front of him.

“Before you find yourself in the wizarding world, you must know something,” Igor explained. He thought for a long time about how to present the boy with his story and the truth about the Dark Lord. The idea of raising a child in the ideals of the dark side, in reverence for Voldemort, was very appealing. 

However, it was not possible to hide from the young Potter who exactly killed his parents. He would learn about it from any book. The optimal solution seemed to convince the child that his parents fought on the wrong side.

“As I said yesterday, both of your parents were wizards. Your Mother was a Muggle-born witch. That is a witch from a family not of magical origin, but your father was from an ancient pureblood family. Their marriage was something terribly wrong. Muggles and Muggle-born wizards are in no way equal to the offspring of the ancient lineages. James went against his parents' wishes when he got married, and for this, they deprived him of his inheritance. In our world just at that time, there was a war. A group of pureblood wizards tried to save our society from the harmful influence of Muggle-borns. Natives of the Muggle world did not know our traditions and, without hesitation, violated them. They thereby destroyed magic itself, making the magical world weaker and more defenseless. Muggle-borns feared these pureblood wizards and called them Death Eaters. The leader of the movement was the greatest of all wizards of our time. 

“What was his name?” Harry asked naively. He was quite upset at what the Headmaster said about his parents because just yesterday the man placed hope in his heart that they were respected in their circle, among the same people as they were. Only yesterday he had denied all accusations against them from Aunt Petunia. Mom and Dad weren't drunkards! But today the director says that among their own people they were on the wrong side. 

For eleven years he was convinced of the worthlessness of his parents, another confirmation did not greatly shake him. It was much more interesting to hear about the heroes who defended the wizarding world.

“I can't say his name,” the Headmaster winced. “We called him the Dark Lord.”

“Dark?” Harry frowned. “Doesn't being dark mean being evil?”

“He was cruel when necessary,” Karkarov twisted his soul. He remembered well what it was like to endure the "necessary" cruelty. 

“And many were afraid of him. However, he fought for us and our beliefs. Dark magic is not at all the same in our world as it is in children's fairy tales. It is useful and necessary. And in Durmstrang, where you will study, they study it in great detail. You will see it for yourself later.”

The boy nodded gravely. He was forced to obey the adults on whom his life depended. Harry used to hide his true thoughts and emotions, to pretend. However, the Headmaster’s words did not inspire confidence in him. Yesterday he seemed to Harry as a man who would take him straight to a fairy tale, but today this picture has been shattered. Now Karkaroff turned out to be the only available source of information, and Harry decided to agree with him so he can later find out everything he needed on his own.

“So, your parents went against the Dark Lord,” Igor repeated. He, like many Death Eaters, knew about the prophecy that sent the Dark Lord to the Potter house on that fateful night, but Harry was too young to know. So after some hesitation, Igor decided not to tell the boy anything. “On Halloween 1981, he came to their house to talk to your father. The Dark Lord was all alone. No one knows exactly what happened. One thing is clear though - you are the only survivor of those who were in the house that night. After Mr. and Mrs. Potter were killed, the Dark Lord tried to kill you too, but he failed. You got a scar on your forehead, and he died. They say this is a manifestation of your latent power, and some believe that your mother left behind a powerful protective curse. In our world, you are the most famous child, you are called the Boy-Who-Lived. Muggle-born and light wizards exalt you to the skies, but supporters of the Dark Lord want revenge.”

“But you want to take me to the school of dark magic?” Harry asked. - “And you, sir, don’t you want revenge?”

“I don’t think the death of the Dark Lord is your fault,” the Headmaster shook his head. In fact, it didn't matter to him whether the boy was guilty or not. He just wanted to buy himself a life.

“And anyway, won't you redeem yourself if you grow up to take the right side? I'm sure your ancestors on your father's side would be proud of you.”

“Would you be proud of me?” Harry muttered thoughtfully. He always wanted someone to be proud of him. Even if they were long-dead ancestors. Perhaps, if Harry himself loved someone, he would understand the desire of his parents to be together, despite James' duty to his family, but he was not familiar with the feeling. The boy saw daily displays of love around him, but he himself did not understand these feelings.

“Besides,” Karkaroff added slyly, “No one came for you from the light school, did they?”

The headmaster knew that the letter from Hogwarts could not have arrived before Potter's eleventh birthday, and there were still a few days before the boy's birthday. In any case, the light side is to blame for not showing interest in their hero for ten years. Harry, however, didn't know any of this, so he just nodded slowly. This was the reason that made his decision. He wanted to join the wizarding world, get away from the Dursleys, he wanted to learn magic. But no one except the Headmaster offered him to enter this world. Harry didn't give a damn about the so-far distant ideals of the wizarding world and the intricate politics of wizards. Darkness or Light didn't matter.

"Will I be safe in Durmstrang?" He asked doubtfully.

Karkaroff laughed to himself triumphantly, but only a slight smile broke through. It's incredible how easy it was to steal his hero from Dumbledore.

“This is what I was going to talk about,” Igor said with restraint. “We'll have to disguise you. Most wizards don't know what you look like. If you get rid of the lightning scar, then only the Potter family traits can give you away. I think it will be enough to grow your hair out and get rid of your glasses.”

He immediately began to implement his plan. Igor deftly removed the glasses from the child and handed contact lenses to the boy. They were magical, soaked in phoenix tears. Such lenses cost a lot, but Karkaroff decided that it was worth the price. Harry put them awkwardly into his eyes and blinked in surprise.

“Wow!” He gasped. “Everything is so clear!”

Harry had long known that the glasses his Aunt had bought him a few years ago were no longer suitable for him. Some things became difficult to see even through the glass. Now the world around has cleared up, and the colors have become brighter.

“Do you feel any discomfort?” Igor asked.

Harry blinked a few more times and shook his head.

“The magic lenses can never be removed,” the Headmaster said. “But in a year or two, Mr. Potter, you'll have to buy new ones.”

“I see, sir, thanks!” Harry exclaimed happily. He wanted to remind Karkaroff about his lack of money, but in time he remembered what the Headmaster had told him about his parents' vault. Igor just nodded, accepting his gratitude, and waved his wand. Harry's hair began to grow and soon reached the shoulder blades. Only then did the Headmaster cut the spell. He deftly secured the long dark hair strands of his future student with a simple hair clip and looked at him appraisingly. 

The resemblance to his father had diminished greatly. At least, it was no longer striking. Those who did not know James personally would hardly have identified this child as his son. The final touch remains. Igor took a rather large vial with a specially brewed potion from the pocket of his robes. It was a pleasant pale lilac color and smelled of vanilla. 

The Headmaster dropped a little on his finger and smeared it over the lightning scar. A moment later, the boy's forehead began to itch badly, but it soon stopped. Karkarov smiled contentedly - not a trace remained of the scar.

“The potion works for a week,” he said, handing the vial to the boy. “Don't forget to smear. It is very important! When the potion is finished, let me know immediately. Your scar is unique, as soon as someone sees it, everything will open up and your life will be in jeopardy.”

In fact, Igor Karkaroff was more worried about his own life. He did not want his former comrades to suspect him of even greater betrayal.

"I understand, sir," Harry nodded, examining the seemingly very fragile vial. The boy tucked it neatly into his trouser pocket. These were Dudley's old pants and they seemed to be roomy enough. Harry was not afraid that the glass would crack if he sat in them.

“And most importantly, no one in the wizarding world should know your real name. You are now Harold Evans. This is how I will write you down in the school records, this is how you will have to introduce yourself to the students. Keep your origins a secret, even from the friends you make.”

"I see, sir, this is for my safety," Harry assured him. “Believe me, I know how to take care of my integrity better than anyone else.”

It was true. It is unlikely that he would have been able to survive with the Dursleys, next to Dudley and his cronies if he could not take care of himself. Years of beatings taught him to hide and lie, he hid his real abilities in school, learned not to say too much. Who wouldn't learn? One careless story about a cartoon could cause Uncle's uncontrollable anger and a week-long hunger strike. Previously, Harry did not understand the reasons. It was now clear that the Dursleys were simply afraid of magic, but the skills he had learned as a child should now be useful in the wizarding world. Yesterday's dreams of a fairy tale were finally shattered.

Karkaroff looked at him approvingly. With a wave of his wand, he transformed his charge's Muggle clothes into robes.

“Now we are Apparating, that is, we will be transported from this place to another. We will find ourselves in London, in Diagon Alley, where magic things are sold and the magic bank "Gringotts" is located,” he explained in detail to the child. Then he gave the boy his hand, which he immediately grasped tenaciously.

Karkaroff hesitated for a long time before deciding to go with Potter to Diagon Alley. The English wizarding community was very small. If in Durmstrang it was unlikely that there would be someone who knew what James Potter looked like and would see the kindred resemblance between him and the new student, then London is a completely different matter. They would probably have been alerted that the Boy-Who-Lived was going somewhere with the former Death Eater. Karkaroff was well known and disliked in England, because he never managed to prove his innocence at the trial, unlike Malfoy. Karkaroff just bought off the ministry by naming all the Death Eaters he knew.

In the end, Igor decided to take the chance and go to Diagon Alley.

They Apparated next to the magical bank. Harry looked curiously at the magnificent building and inquired about magic money. The Headmaster was forced to tell him in detail about the system of galleons, sickles, and knuts, as well as about the goblins, whom he disliked. Harry didn't get a good look around the bank. They walked through a long marble hall. Along it stood a long counter, behind which sat goblins on high chairs, writing in thick books. The Headmaster immediately called one of the clerks, who demanded a key for the vault. Harry looked at his guide in confusion.

“Mr. Potter lost the key, I think it won't be difficult to make a new one?” Igor asked calmly. He had informed Harry in advance that he would have to make an exception at the bank and use his real name. The goblin didn't seem pleased with the customer. He frowned and grunted something before pulling out a roll of parchment from the table.

“We have to make sure you are actually Mr. Potter,” he said. “Sign this scroll.

The goblin gave Harry a quill but didn't give him ink. The boy had never written with quills before. He twirled it clumsily in his hands. Are wizards so poorly developed that they still use such antiquity instead of pens?

“It's a blood quill,” the Headmaster explained reluctantly. “Just write.”

Harry didn't like the name, but he started writing. At the same moment, a scratch appeared on his hand. Harry cried out in surprise and dropped the quill, examining his hand. A trickle of blood ran down the skin, and a red line appeared on the parchment. The goblin looked at the child and grinned in a vile, bloodthirsty way.

“It writes in your blood,” Igor said calmly. “This is the only way to get money if you don't have the key.”

Harry gritted his teeth and picked up the fallen feather. He wrote another line, watching his hand tremble in pain. He had no choice. The boy wrote down his last name emphatically and stared defiantly at the goblin.

“Very good, Mr. Potter,” Igor said in a deliberately affectionate tone. “Now the clerk will come up, who will lead you to your vault and give you a new key. The former key will, of course, be invalidated and no more will be accepted.”

The guide immediately emerged as if out of the ground. He introduced himself as Griphook and ordered to follow him. They went to one of the many doors that led out of the marble hall, and went out into a real dungeon, consecrated only with torches. The goblin invited Karkaroff and Harry to climb into a small cart on the rails. As it soon turned out, he drove very quickly and in just a few minutes drove the clients to Harry's vault, cheerfully weaving through the maze of corridors. Harry thought one had to be crazy to rob a bank like this.

The cart pulled up sharply in front of the desired vault. Griphook, the goblin, invited them to come. He pulled a key out of his pocket and opened the door, then gravely handed the key to Harry. To the boy's unprecedented shock, there were literally heaps of gold and silver inside. He had no idea that he had such wealth stored in London! But the Headmaster said that his father was disinherited? Where did Dad and Mom get that kind of money then? Harry scratched his chin thoughtfully. There was no point in asking the director: he could be lying, or he could simply not know, because, apparently he was not a close acquaintance of his parents.

There was a pouch in the safe that Harry used as a wallet. The Headmaster said that the prices in the wizarding world weren't that high, so they wouldn't need more than fifty or one hundred gold pieces. The bag, of course, would be heavy if the lightweight charm had not been applied to the bag. So the first step has been taken. Harry tried not to show how worried he was. Finally, it was necessary to move on to the most interesting thing - buying magical things.

Karkarov took his ward out of the bank and the first thing he did was buy robes. He was not going to show Potter to the gossiper Madame Malkin, although she was a recognized master of sewing and tailoring, he did not want the whole Diagon Alley to talk about his visit later. He walked past her flashy sign and entered a small shop run by her husband-in-law, Matthew Malkin. Matt was also a good tailor, but he didn't get along well with his clients. At one point in time, he inadvertently contacted the Death Eaters and, although he did not manage to do anything, his reputation was hopelessly ruined.

“Igor!” greeted Matthew happily, as soon as the Headmaster and Harry entered. The men embraced. “You haven't been here in a long time.”

“It's more convenient for me to shop abroad, you know,” explained the Headmaster. “However, my new student is English, so I decided to take a walk down Diagon Alley. Harold, this is Mr. Malkin. Matt, I present to you the future student of Durmstrang - Mr. Evans.”

"Hello sir," Harry said politely. The new name was unusual to hear, also, the Headmaster addressed him so familiarly, but he did not show it. The magic street that Harry had just walked on was much more of a distraction. Owls flew there with parcels tied to their legs, strangely dressed wizards walked, and incredible announcements were listed on the signs! It was impossible to believe that wizards have their own pharmacies, where prices for dragon liver suddenly jumped, and a magic wand store, that there are racing brooms in the world, and owls are sold in the pet store! All this is literally a stone away from the normal world. Behind the invisible wall, there was still an ordinary, Muggle world, where cars drove and ordinary people worked in banks.

“We need a set of robes for the school,” said Igor. “A fur coat and a dress robe.”

“Hmm, I don't have a lot of fur coats,” Malkin said thoughtfully, counting something in his mind. “It’s not often that Durmstrang students come to see me, but we’ll find something.” However, let's start with the robes.

He motioned for Harry to follow him. The boy obediently went behind the screen and climbed onto a stool. The tailor quickly and deftly took measurements from him, making a few notes in his notebook.

“What a fragile boy,” he shook his head. “If I were your relatives, I would have fed you better, Mr. Evans.

"Tell them that, sir," Harry shrugged.

The tailor grinned and, telling the child to stand on the bench a little longer, disappeared into the utility room. Several minutes passed in silence. Harry considered everything he had seen today, taking a moment. Soon, however, the front door slammed open and the bell rang. The room was filled with the voices of new visitors.

“Miles, stop it!” the thick rumbling voice strictly ordered.

“Father, this is not fair!” answered a teenager, apparently, Miles.

“I am not interested in your concepts of justice. You're a Slytherin!” The man cut him off. A heavy sigh and a soft chuckle from a different voice answered him.

“Bletchley is that you ?!” the Headmaster suddenly asked.

“Karkaroff?” the man was surprised. “What are the chances”?

“I decided to shake things up by helping a new student,” Igor said in a pleasant tone. “And you?”

“I came to buy a new uniform for my boys,” Bletchley sighed. “They’re Growing! And I'm not a Malfoy to constantly buy velvet robes for them! All the same, they get everything.”

The wizard's tone was deliberately displeased, but deep down there was tenderness and pride in his sons.

“Miles is asking for a Nimbus 2000 too. Wants to join the house team.”

“You sent the children to Hogwarts, didn't you?” clarified Karkarov.

“The wife persuaded me. Said that Durmstrang is too far away, and the rules are stricter than those of Dumbledore. However, I found out who Dumbledore has hired as teachers, and this was the last straw! Let Likoris cry as much as she pleases, my youngest will go to you, Karkaroff.” said Mr. Bletchley.

“Well, that's just wonderful!” Said Mr. Malkin intervening in their conversation. He brought with him a whole bunch of different furs and put them on the counter. Harry hurried off the bench and walked over to the other wizards. Mr. Bletchley was a plump, pale man. Despite his rather harsh statements, he looked good-natured, although his gaze was penetrating. He immediately examined Harry closely. Bletchley rightly believed that Karkarov would not have accompanied anyone to Diagon Alley.

“Harold Evans,” Igor introduced him. “This is Mr. Bletchley and his sons, Miles, and Christopher. Christopher will be your classmate this year.”

"Very nice to meet you," Harry nodded politely. He examined the boys with interest. Miles was only two years older and was already considerably taller and more massive. His clear, sly eyes darted curiously from under his light bangs. Christopher was smaller but clearly, he could easily catch up with his brother in the future. It seemed that their whole family was distinguished by a large physique. Christopher cut his blond hair short. His features seemed a little rough, although his cheeks remained childishly rounded. He was gray-eyed, like his father and brother.

Malkin tore them away from the conversation and invited the boys to choose fur coats to their liking. He could change the size at any time, so the boys just looked for the prettier fur. Christopher was arrogantly silent, only pointing out the fur coat he liked. Still, in the same silence, he went behind the screen and climbed onto the bench there. It was only then that Harry realized that the boy hadn’t said a word since he had entered the shop. Mr. Malkin, meanwhile, brought out for Harry a stack of beautiful red robes that were the style of Durmstrang and showed off a dark green dress robe. Harry liked the clothes, so Matthew hurried to pack everything, after which Karkaroff politely said goodbye to the Bletchley family, and they left the store.

They walked slowly down the street: they turned to a pharmacy and a stationery store, purchasing ingredients for potions, ink, and quills. Harry really liked the small scales and the folding telescope, which they also bought for the school. The Headmaster also helped his future student to choose a cauldron and a set of various tools for making potions.

“Christopher Bletchley is the only Englishman besides you who will enter Durmstrang this year,” said Karkaroff. “Their family is not so old, but very worthy.”

“Sir, from which countries do students come to Durmstrang?”

“From all over Europe. We select students from among pureblood and half-blood families. There are no Muggle-borns in Durmstrang because they simply couldn't handle the curriculum,” the headmaster explained smugly. “As a rule, our invitation is not refused.”

“But it turns out that all students speak different languages, how do you learn?” Harry wondered.

“A linguistic spell has been put on the school,” Igor explained. “Whatever language a person speaks or writes on its territory, he will be understood.”

There was only one wand shop in Diagon Alley - Ollivander's, so they just couldn't escape it. However, this was the last place Igor wanted to go. He himself once bought a wand from Gregorovich, but he heard many unpleasant things about the English master. Ollivander was overly perceptive, so he would most likely recognize Harry Potter. Of course, he would not have grabbed the child and interrogated him, but in no case should Harry be allowed to be seen next to Karkaroff.

The boy went into the shop alone. Somewhere in the back of the shop, a bell rang, announcing the presence of a visitor. The room was very small. Shelves lined the walls with thousands of narrow boxes that must have held magic wands. There was a layer of dust on them. The quietness of Harry's quarters became creepy for a moment. But he did not allow himself to succumb to panic, especially since his loneliness was interrupted by a quiet voice:

“Good afternoon.”

Potter flinched and turned around. An elderly man stood before him: wrinkled and gnarled. The wizard's eyes sparkled with an otherworldly light.

“Hello,” the boy greeted him, trying to pull himself together.

“Your face is familiar to me,” the old man muttered, scanning the visitor with his eyes. "What is your name, young man?"

“Piers Polkiss,” Harry said the first name he came across. Piers was his cousin Dudley's best friend. Mr. Ollivander and his mysterious shop made everything inside him tense with incomprehensible expectation and fear. And the fact that Karkaroff hastened to sneak away under a far-fetched pretext spoke volumes.

“Hmm,” the old man drawled, puzzled. Luckily for Potter, Mr. Ollivander remembered every wand he sold, but he didn't have a very good memory of faces. Resigning himself to the insincere reply, he pulled a long ruler from his pocket.

“Well, Mr. Polkiss, what is your wand arm?”

“I'm right-handed,” the boy replied after some hesitation.

The old man immediately began to study his right hand with interest, as if it were a mysterious relic. Ollivander used his ruler to measure the length of his arm from shoulder to elbow, then from elbow to fingertips, then from shoulder to floor. He almost sniffed at Harry and must have struggled to resist trying his teeth. He last measured the circumference of the head.

“Inside each wand is a powerful magical substance, Mr. Polkiss,” Ollivander began as he finished measuring. “Each stick is individual, there are no two absolutely alike. And remember, you will never achieve decent results if you use someone else's wand.”

“Why, sir?“ Harry wondered.

“Because the wand chooses the wizard itself, Mr. Polkiss, and will not tolerate another's hand.

Mr. Ollivander took several boxes of wands from the shelf and laid them out in front of the child.

“Well, first, let's try the beechwood and dragon heartstring wand. Come on, Mr. Polkiss, take it and wave it!”

Harry dutifully took the outstretched wand in his hand and, feeling crazy, waved it slightly in front of his nose. Nothing happened, but Mr. Ollivander almost immediately snatched it from the boy's hand.

“This one doesn't fit,” he said and held out the next one. Harry dutifully took one wand after another, but none of them were like. He tried and tried. Half an hour passed, and Mr. Ollivander was delighted with every new attempt, which seemed to only add energy and enthusiasm to him. Harry grew desperate with each new wand. Isn't there a suitable one in this whole store? If there isn’t, will Headmaster Karkaroff just come and tell him that Harry is not suitable for his school, curling his lips contemptuously? And what will Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon say when they realize they won't take him to a wizarding school?

“And you are an unusual client, Mr. Polkiss,” Ollivander chuckled at last. “ I have something unusual. I saved it for another client, however, you are much better for her.”

He retired into the room, and a few minutes later brought out the dusty box.

“Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather. A very unusual combination. Try it!”

Harry obediently took his wand in his hands and immediately felt his fingers warm. He waved his hand sharply, and golden sparks flew from the wooden tip in all directions.

“Well!” exclaimed a delighted Ollivander. “Interesting, interesting,” he muttered, taking the wand from the boy, which Harry gave very reluctantly. “Very curious…”

Potter thought the old man wanted to be asked, so he didn't disappoint the seller.

“Sorry, sir, but what interests you so much?”

“You know, Mr. Polkiss, every wand is unique and no two are alike. However, yours has a sister.” He smiled. “Phoenixes usually do not give more than one feather for making a wand, but in your case, he gave two. You got one, but you must have heard a lot about the owner of the second.”

“Who is this?” Harry asked as calmly as possible. The old man's innuendo began to scare him, but he tried not to show fear and confusion.

“He-who-must-not-be-named,” Ollivander whispered. Harry frowned, not understanding. He still knew very little about the wizarding world, so he had no idea who it might be about. However, almost immediately he remembered my morning conversation with the director and his refusal to call a certain wizard by name.

“Are you talking about the Dark Lord?” Harry asked in shock, widening his eyes.

“Yes,” the seller nodded, frowning. Harry made a serious mistake unknowingly. He did not yet understand that only dark wizards and supporters called the leader of the Death Eaters so. “Thirteen and a half inches, yew and phoenix feather. I think we should expect great things from you, Mr. Polkiss. After all, You-Know-Who has done many amazing deeds, although most of them were terrible.

Harry paid seven golden galleons for the wand and decided never to tell anyone the secret of his wand. And Mr. Ollivander looked after the young man with regret. He thought many times that he could break Voldemort's faithful ally before she committed all her crimes. And now he thought that he should have broken Mr. Polkiss's wand, for his soul was as full of fire and his heart was as cold as Tom Riddle had been so many years ago.

The Headmaster was waiting for Harry in a small street cafe. He hid from the last July heat in the shade of a huge umbrella and lazily poked around in a pie offered by the owner of the cafe. Harry walked over and put his wand in his shopping bag. Karkarov had already warned him that he would not be able to use his magic wand until school. The director nodded to the boy in a chair next to him and pulled up the menu.

“We only have to visit the bookstore,” Igor said. He watched indifferently as Harry studied the menu and then ordered the usual chocolate ice cream. Potter had never eaten such a thing before. The Dursleys often bought Dudley's various goodies but they did not spoil their nephew. At best, the boy got some kind of popsicle. Harry immediately pounced on the treat and ate ice cream in just a couple of minutes, risking a sore throat.

Igor deliberately did not take Harry to Flourish and Blotts.

There was more choice than any other Diagon Alley store, and even most of the textbooks required in Durmstrang could be found, although students from this school did not often buy literature in England. However, there was also a large selection of history books in English ministry-approved writing that Potter should never see. Of course, in a few years, the boy will understand that Karkaroff shamelessly deceived him, but it is better if he enters the magical world sympathizing with the dark side. Therefore, the Headmaster took Harry to a modest shop, which was attached to the junction of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. There was less variety there than in Flourish and Blotts, but for trusted people, there were always books in the shop that the British government, to put it mildly, did not approve of.

”Igor!” The shop owner smiled pleasantly after looking at the newcomers for a long time. He was clearly blind and for some reason, he refused to wear glasses. His shop looked like a small dark library. Harry winced. The place was eerie. There was silence in the shop, apparently, there were no customers at the moment. “Have you brought your son?”

“No, this is my student,” objected Karkaroff. He grabbed the salesman by the elbow and pulled him a little to the side so Harry couldn't hear what they were talking about. “We need a standard set of textbooks for the first year, and at the same time pick up a couple of books on pureblood etiquette and history, but make sure that the latter are as loyal to dark magic and the Dark Lord as possible."

“I understand, I understand,” the old man nodded. “I will bring it now.”

As the men talked, Harry examined everything that lay on the counter. Taking advantage of the absence of customers, the shopkeeper read books. They lay open around the chair, where, apparently, the old man spent most of the time. Magazines and newspapers were in a separate pile. The topmost newspaper was called The Daily Prophet. There was a photograph on the front page under the headline. Harry ignored the words because the image immediately grabbed all of his attention. People were moving on it and talking about something among themselves! The boy rubbed his eyes incredulously, but everything in front of him remained the same. Next to the newspaper was a catalog of books sold in the store. Harry took it timidly and quickly flipped through the first few pages. It turned out that books could be easily ordered from home.

The seller, meanwhile, brought out a stack of books from the back room. Harry immediately stepped closer, examining them curiously. Most of them turned out to be textbooks with intriguing titles.

“Transfiguration, potion-making, enchantment, and dark arts are the four main subjects in Durmstrang,” the Headmaster explained. “Runes and astrology are also required to study. The rest you can choose yourself in the second year. All students in my school are pureblooded or half-blooded. They have been in the magical world since infancy and have studied it perfectly. So you better buy and read books about magical history and traditions so as not to betray your ignorance.”

“I see, sir,” the boy nodded. The Headmaster's proposal was more than reasonable. But the fact that Karkaroff's books were limited to his choice made Harry a little alarmed, so when the director turned away, a catalog lay in a pile of purchased folios. The salesman just chuckled. Igor was his old friend, but the profit and prosperity of the shop worried him much more than Karkaroff's murky plans for raising children.

With the bookstore, they finished their journey down Diagon Alley. Harry again experienced the unpleasant feeling that arose when Apparating and found himself in front of his Uncle and Aunt’s house. It was getting dark in Little Winging. There were no people on the street at all, so no one noticed the wizards who suddenly appeared as if out of thin air. Finally, the Headmaster handed him a plump envelope.

“This is an official invitation to Durmstrang,” he explained. “On September 1st at ten in the morning, it will become a portkey that will take you to the pier. From there, you and the other children will go to school. Remember, on the first of September at ten in the morning you will have to take the envelope and your belongings in your hands and hold them until you find yourself on the dock.”

Harry nodded understandingly. He didn’t know what a portkey was but he was going to read about it soon in one of his books.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for the delay on the chapter, docs kept on crashing while I was editing it so I got annoyed and let it sit for a bit lol, enjoy the chapter, I hope I translated everything okay :)

The day Harry turned eleven was no different from a thousand other quiet days on Privet Drive. A neighbor was watering the lawn, Mrs. Figg waddled down the street with a string bag full of cat food, and a few ladies, hiding behind curtains, watched the neighbors' yards, hoping to see something interesting. They were all unaware that something very interesting was happening at number four, in the cupboard under the stairs, where young Potter had just finished reading a book on the history of the wizarding world. The content of this volume was very different from the story that the Ministry approved, but Harry did not know it.  
"Boy," Aunt Petunia knocked loudly on the cupboard door. “Get up and make us breakfast!”  
“I'm coming, Aunt Petunia,” the boy responded, putting the book down. He got dressed and went to the kitchen, thinking about what he had read. Automatically taking out a frying pan, bacon, and eggs. Making breakfast was familiar to him.  
The author of the book was listed as Bathilda Bagshot and the book itself was new, recently published, and it told the story of the English wizarding community from ancient times to the fall of the Dark Lord in 1981.  
In the authors’ note, Bathilda wrote that her book is true and complete, unlike school textbooks.  
If you believe her, then the life of the wizarding world has never been calm, there were always wars and uprisings, which led either to peace treaties or to riots. And only one confrontation has lasted over the centuries: Wizards and Muggles, Purebloods and Muggle-borns. It was already impossible to figure out who was right and who was not, after a millennium, love and hatred, horror and anger, stupidity, and conscious revenge were tangled in too tight together.

However, Bathilda considered it a fact that Pureblood magic was very different from Muggle-borns. Those in whose veins magical blood flowed were significantly more powerful than the first generation wizards and therefore they could use rituals and spells that the latter often proved was beyond their power. This made Purebloods think they were superior, and Muggle-borns fear their capabilities. As a result, after a long struggle, the fear accumulated by the Muggleborns over a millennium achieved the feat of banning the magic they once trembled before, declaring the pureblood families' magic dark and dangerous. Prohibited by law in most European countries, and all those who disagreed either died heroically, rot in the magical prison of Azkaban, or secretly practiced the art... 

There were, of course, Pure Blooded magical families who lost their knowledge, as well as Purebloods in the third or fourth generation of a new magical line, who are capable of using ancient magical rituals but unknowing of them. And Harry and Lily Potter, who destroyed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, greatly contributed to this sad situation.  
Bathilda Bagshot did not embellish the exploits of the Dark Lord. However, she admitted that most of his goals were consonant with the desires of Pureblood families. Harry understood instantly that the man was very cruel and possibly insane. Yet at the same time, he seemed to be an extremely gifted wizard and intelligent person. Only once in the entire book did the author decide to call him by name, and this also said a lot.  
"Lord Voldemort," Harry said to the bacon and eggs, rolling the words thoughtfully on his tongue. The boy did not know French, but Bathilda herself deciphered everything in her book. - Flight of death.

“What are you muttering there?” Petunia grunted, placing dishes for breakfast on the table. Naturally, none of the Dursleys remembered that Harry's birthday was today. All their thoughts were focused on Karkaroff's recent visit. It was difficult for them to digest that Harry would become a full-fledged magician, that the Headmaster of a magic school appeared in their house, and that their chair turned into a sheep. The Dursleys walked around depressed, obviously trying to come up with some kind of salvation from the troubles that were coming. However, his dear relatives never remembered their nephew's birthday, so Harry did not pay attention to their attitude.  
“Everything is ready,” Harry said. The books worried him more than the Dursleys now. He was never particularly fond of studies, his relatives did not like it when he received higher grades than Dudley, so Harry did not strain. However, Karkaroff had made it clear that he needed the highest marks from Harry. Besides, knowledge was supposed to help him adapt to a dangerous school for the Boy-Who-Lived. He would have liked to discuss what he had read with someone unbiased, someone unlike Karkaroff, who was clearly a supporter of the Dark Lord, but the Dursleys were not at all suited for this purpose.  
According to the book, his father, James Potter, belonged to a pureblooded family with the knowledge and ability for so-called dark magic. All purebloods were related in one way or another, so Harry rightly believed that he should have more suitable guardians among them than the Dursleys. They must have despised half-bloods. This made him involuntarily feel grateful to his Aunt. She, too, was not happy with his origin, but she still took care of him, albeit in her own way. However, this did not mean that he wanted to stay here anymore!  
“Eat and you can go back to your cupboard,” muttered his aunt, as if trying to dispel his strange thoughts. Harry was fine with that. Now he was going to read a book about the school he was going to attend.

  
By noon, Uncle Vernon had unexpectedly returned home. He and Petunia had a long discussion in the kitchen about something, which aroused the curiosity of the children. Dudley spun nervously around the kitchen door, trying to eavesdrop, but he didn't succeed. Harry had no intention of quarreling with him about a seat near the door, so he sat quietly in the closet, listening to his aunt's muttering through the wall. A few hours later, Harry had just finished reading the book about Durmstrang, when Vernon and Petunia called them to the family meeting. These meetings were attended by the whole family, including Harry, although the children were usually simply informed of the decision as they were too young to decide.  
"We're moving," Said Aunt Petunia seriously. She stood in the middle of the living room, her lips pursed and her arms folded across her chest. Vernon settled down on the sofa, occupying it almost completely, and looked menacingly at the children. Dudley flopped into the chair, and Harry was left to stand at the door.  
“What?!” Dudley shouted indignantly, jumping up at once. “But we can't move! All my friends are here and-”  
“We don't want any crazy people to know where our house is!” Uncle Vernon slammed his fist on the table, drowning out his son’s yelling. “I have long been offered to make Grunnings a branch of a German company and move the whole family to Germany. I used to refuse, but now I changed my mind.”  
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at Harry expressively. Perhaps they thought that moving, and even moving to another country, would stop wizards from finding him, especially in Germany, and this way he would not be able to get to school on his own. However, his relatives did not know anything about the portkeys and Harry had no intention of telling them. It will actually be pretty funny when he still escapes to Durmstrang, even from his new home in Germany.  
“I don’t want to! I don't want to move!” Dudley shouted. He stomped his feet, attracting the attention of his parents. Petunia rushed to him, trying to comfort him. Vernon muttered something annoyed. Harry shrugged and went to his cupboard. He still did not know much about the wizarding world, but something told him that the Dursleys' attempts to hide from the wizards were in vain.  
Dudley raged for several more hours. He cried, threw his turtle into the air, smashed half of the plates in the kitchen, and even hit Petunia, but his efforts were fruitless. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were unwavering in their decision. Then Dudley took a bicycle from the garage and went for a ride. He did not return until it was so dark that Petunia was seriously scared, but in the end, he returned - tired and scared. It turned out that Dudley, out of frustration, accidentally almost choked one of Mrs. Figg's cats. The old woman rushed to the frightened animal and stumbled, managing to break her leg and hit her head. The poor thing was immediately taken to the hospital.  
In the morning, right after breakfast, the whole family went to fill out the documents for the move. Uncle Vernon's foreign partners were interested in his firm’s future enough to arrange an emergency move for the family.  
Dudley continued to sulk. Petunia sold things that were too expensive to transport to another country and quickly packed up the rest. Vernon disappeared at work, dealing with the company's papers, and Realtors came to the house every now and then.  
During all this chaos, Harry stubbornly continued to read the books he bought in Diagon Alley. He was distracted only by eating and helping his Aunt pack her things. Three weeks before his departure, Harry managed to reread the History of the Wizarding World three times, textbooks on transfiguration, potions, and charms, and he got acquainted with astrology and herbology. He studied the volumes on the dark arts and etiquette very carefully. After that, Harry began to try to behave like a proper wizard. If the Dursleys hadn't been so busy moving, they probably would have noticed a change in him, but they did not. 

At the end of August, everything was finally ready. All the furniture was taken away by a large car with a bright inscription "International transport", and the house was sold. The family had their last night on Privet Drive. The Dursleys, although they made their decision, did not seem at all pleased with the move. Aunt Petunia's eyes were wet when they ate a pizza ordered from a restaurant in the evening: there was simply nothing to cook normal homemade food with. Harry could understand the relatives, after all, they had lived on Privet Drive for many years and were happy here. He himself did not have good memories of this place, but leaving was still a little scary.

No one really slept that night at number four. There was silence, but everyone was thinking about something different. Dudley looked out the window and imagined the friends he had already said goodbye to. Petunia sighed heavily, remembering how she came to this house from the hospital with her son in her arms, how she met the neighbors, how she cleaned the kitchen thousands of times, and how her nephew helped her. Vernon considered the pros and cons of the move for the last time. Harry read his textbooks once again under the faint light of the old flashlight.  
In the morning they got into a taxi, because Uncle Vernon's car had already been sent on the trip, and headed to the airport. The plane was supposed to take the family to Frankfurt, and then in a rented car, the settlers were going to drive to a small town in the suburbs, where they bought a house which they were going to live in for at least a couple of the next years.  
The trip almost went without incident. It was only at the German airport that a pretty girl at the front desk looked in surprise at Harry's documents and at his scar, which he did not consider necessary to cover before arriving at school, and, smiling rosy, she greeted:  
“Glad to welcome you to our country, Mr. Potter. I ask you to wait a few minutes until I complete all the necessary paperwork.”  
“What other papers?” Uncle Vernon snuffled in displeasure. “We already documented everything back in England.”  
“Yes, sir, but you didn’t inform the magical child service about the move,” the girl said calmly.   
She did not pay attention to how instantly his uncle blushed and frowned with anger, how his aunt rubbed her throat. Their plan to hide from the wizards failed right at the airport! The employee rummaged through the papers in front of her for a couple of minutes, whispered something over them, and then handed them to Harry. “I hope you like Germany.”  
“Thank you miss,” Harry chuckled, glancing sideways at the shocked relatives.   
“But why is it that in England I didn’t have to draw up any magic documents when I left?”  
“Oh,” she smiled. “ There have never been problems for underage wizards leaving and entering magical England. Otherwise, they would have faced a lot of trouble every year, taking the children to Hogwarts, because it is in Scotland. The British are such conservatives, they still can’t widen their horizons…”  
“Enough!” Vernon barked at the chatty girl. He took the paper away from Harry, glanced at it casually, and slipped it into the rest of the documents, His love of order overpowering his hatred of magic.  
At the exit of the airport building, Uncle Vernon's business partner was waiting for them, who promptly invited them into the car and drove them out of Frankfurt towards their new home.  
On the way, the men spoke softly in German, while the others listened carefully. Mr. Dursley was actually fluent in German because he had had business conversations in it many times before, but the rest of the family had to urgently learn the language, but can you learn it properly in a couple of weeks?   
Dudley failed, and Harry didn't try. He had to live in a new home for only three days before going to school. Harry wasn’t worried about how the plump cousin was going to go to school, but he could hear the Dursleys talking about private tutoring.  
Only in the evening did the travelers reach their new home. The house, and the whole street, was very reminiscent of what they had left just this morning. However, they neither had the strength nor the desire to look back at them.  
They ignored the curious neighbors peeping out from behind the curtains and, after hastily saying goodbye to their guide, went into the house. Uncle Vernon didn't even have the strength to scold Harry for what had happened at the airport.  
Some of their possessions were already in the house as they had been delivered earlier, but they were dumped in such a mess that it made no sense to look for something now. They went to bed at random in the rooms they had chosen. Harry got a tiny bedroom on the second floor. The cupboard in this house turned out to be too small, so although the room he received now was much smaller than a boy of eleven years should have it was still better than he had before.   
Harry ended up sleeping on the floor, wrapped in some rags he found inside boxes. Dudley and his parents, of course, managed to lie on the beds already delivered.  
The next days were spent sorting things out and putting them out of the boxes back into place. Mr. Dursley didn't even go to work, instead, he helped his wife and son.   
Neighbors came to meet them, constantly distracting them from unpacking. They gifted the new neighbors with pies, brought souvenirs, and even explained where and what is in their town.  
Since Petunia spoke German rather poorly, she did not understand the mistake made by her neighbors. They decided that Harry and Dudley were brothers, although the boys were completely different. All the neighbors were very surprised when the youngest of the children suddenly disappeared on September 1st.  
“He went to a private school,” said Petunia. She would have liked to say that it is a school for delinquent teenagers, but she did not know how to explain that in a foreign language, so she just said- “For special children.”

  
There was no more talk about Harry, but the neighbors, of course, remembered that he was "special."  
On the evening of August 31st, Harry packed all the necessary things into a special bag, which he bought in Diagon Alley with the Headmaster. There was a lot of room, and the bag itself was small and weighed very little. Even a child could carry it with ease. The boy had prepared himself for the morning a school robe which he would wear, and decent shoes. He had no intention of introducing himself to his future classmates in Muggle clothes.  
They were all dangerous to him and would not miss the chance to humiliate him.   
Judging by the history of the school, the morals there were twisted, there was always tough competition for a high place in the hierarchy. The professors preferred not to get involved in these conflicts. So it was necessary to immediately reach the top of the hierarchy so that at least his classmates did not behave hostilely with him. The headmaster solved several problems for him by telling him not to call himself Potter, now at least they won't kill him to avenge for the death of the Dark Lord. However, Evans's last name was disgustingly Muggle, leaving no doubt about its origin.  
Yes, Muggle-born children were not accepted into Durmstrang, but that only meant that the half-bloods were at a disadvantage there. Putting himself above everyone so at least he would not be humiliated was the first priority of Mr. Harold James Evans.  
He did not warn his relatives about anything in the morning. As always he had breakfast, quietly wrapped himself a piece of raspberry pie for the road, went up to the bathroom, where he carefully covered up his scar. Then he calmly changed his clothes, left a note on the table for his aunt, held his bag tighter, and grabbed the letter. Several minutes passed in inactivity and silence. Harry was counting the minutes in alarm. He was already beginning to worry that he had confused the day, that he was late because he didn’t have a watch, that the Headmaster was just making fun of him, that there was no wizarding world at all. And then suddenly he felt like a hook had grabbed somewhere under his navel and pulled. It didn't sound like Apparation at all, and Harry wouldn't say it felt good. He barely stood on his feet when the ground pushed into them just moments later. Harry found himself in the crowd of children. All around was filled with noise.  
Harry tucked the now useless letter into his pocket and looked around. It was a little chilly, but not cool enough to take a fur coat out of my bag. Around him were children of many different ages. They were all in red uniforms. Many were seen off by their parents. Here and there were heard the joyful shouts of the senior students who found friends in the crowd. A girl was crying next to Harry, saying goodbye to her mother. And a few steps away, a stern elderly lady in a black robe was talking discontentedly with her granddaughter.  
“And remember, Romilda, you must not disgrace the family. You are lucky to be in Durmstrang, so make me finally proud of you!”  
“Yes, grandma,” the girl answered quietly. She was almost inaudible due to the noise of the crowd. Harry wondered if they spoke English or if there was already a spell in place to understand any language. The director said that only two English children are entering this year. He listened to other voices in the crowd and made out a foreign incomprehensible speech.  
Among the people, it was difficult to make out where he was, so Harry tried to move away. He took only a couple of steps, and his eyes widened in utter amazement. They all stood on the wooden pier. And there was a stunning view of the sea. At least Harry thought it was the sea because he saw no end or end of the stormy, dark water. The waves rose in magnificent mountains with white caps of foam. And on the water, a majestic ship swayed. It was dark, a little eerie, like a ghost ship, and awe-inspiring. A couple of young wizards had just thrown the gangway from the ship onto the pier, and the students hurriedly stepped onto it. The crowd divided into parents and children, Harry quickly situated himself and joined the latter.

They climbed the gangway and found themselves on the deck. Senior students, who had been here more than once, hurried down to the cabins, and the kids followed them. Inside, it turned out to be much more comfortable than it seemed at the first glance at the ship. The walls in the narrow, well-lit corridors were upholstered with light fabric, which gave a certain coziness. There were doors in the walls every couple of meters, which apparently led to the cabins.  
Older students started to settle there. Harry wondered if he should also look for a cabin when a strong hand grabbed him by the collar. Its owner was a thin, blonde girl with a tenacious gaze. Her cheekbones were wide and her features were rough.  
“You’re a freshman,” she stated.  
"Yes," Harry nodded in confirmation. There was no point in denying the obvious.  
“I’m the Head Prefect,” the girl explained, pointing to a gilded badge pinned to her collar, which Harry didn’t notice as he looked at her face. “I should only look after the girls, but my partner has disappeared somewhere, so I'll help you too.”  
“Thank you,” Harry smiled with relief. She nodded to him to follow her and hurried off into the interior of the ship. She was called several times from different cabins while they walked along the corridors, but the Headgirl only waved her hand to those who wanted to talk. "I'm Harold Evans," Harry introduced himself, hurrying after her. It would be rude not to give your name.  
She looked at him and wrinkled her nose, but introduced herself in response: “Reginleif Koening.”  
Almost immediately after that, the girl opened the door to one of the cabins and told Harry to enter. Harry walked in and looked around. He found himself in a room that most resembled a huge living room. There were sofas, tables, on the walls someone carefully hung tapestries with all sorts of heroic scenes, and soft carpets lay on the floor. There were at least thirty children in the room. Apparently, they were all freshmen. For some reason, all the kids were gathered in one cabin and were not allowed to sail in groups like senior students. The kids chatted among themselves, but the appearance of Harry and Reginleif distracted them. Harry hurried to take a nice chair that was not far from the entrance. Köning glanced around the room with a cursory glance, apparently counting the freshmen, and was pleased with the result.  
The ship jerked gently. Everyone looked at each other warily.  
“We are diving,” the Prefect explained. “This ship does not float in the air, it dives underwater. It's faster and safer this way.”  
The kids whispered in alarm. However, their concern was immediately dispelled by the sudden appearance of another senior student. It was a lanky redhead in a casually open robe. His lips were oddly puffy and his hair was badly disheveled. Laughter was heard from all around, and the Prefect angrily slapped him on the head.

“Hello! Let's get to know each other,” the guy squealed happily, rubbing the back of his head after the blow. “I'm Jeremiah van Eyck, and this scoundrel is Reginleif Koening, but you can just call us Jeremiah and Leif. We will be your prefects for the next two years. Since we are both sixth years, you will brighten up our final school years with your good behavior.  
Reginleif folded her arms across her chest and, while giving a scornful look to her partner, listened to his speech.  
“You must all know from your parents how the school works, but just in case, I’ll explain,” van Eyck continued to say. “The seniors once explained everything to us…”  
He narrowed his eyes dreamily and fell silent for a second, which Koening immediately took advantage of.  
“In this school, we do not distinguish between students by origin. You are in Durmstrang, which means you deserve it,” the girl said coldly. “Here they will look at your knowledge and skills, and only thanks to them will you be able to advance. And if you have climbed to the very top of the school hierarchy, then this is a big bonus for you in your future life. If you can successfully use your noble surname here your future will also be greatly benefited.  
“Tell them about the school hierarchy,” said Jeremiah.  
“The professors in Durmstrang are exclusively engaged in educational work,” the girl continued without paying attention to him, looking only at the freshmen who were listening attentively to her. Her voice rang out in the deathly silence, it seemed like no one even breathed in the cabin. “Everything is run by the student council. There are seven people in it, not counting the heads of different courses. Naturally, they have many privileges. The council is chaired by the Chief Head of the school. Getting into the student council is the dream of every student at Durmstrang, but, as you know, not everyone’s dream comes true. Do your best, show yourself, make them notice you and maybe you’ll get a chance to join.”  
“Are you on the student council?” asked a boyish voice from the far corner of the cabin.  
“No,” Jeremiah laughed. “The seniors take a lower place in it. And the Prefects of the freshmen even lower. However, this is still a very good position and promises certain privileges.”  
“There are sixteen leading students in total at Durmstrang, besides the Chief,” Koening continued, frowning. Apparently, the reminder that she was not in the top place jarred her. “Each year has two - a boy and a girl. In the second year, the student council will select two of you as the head of the year, which you will remain as until the end of your studies, unless, of course, you lose the confidence of the rest of the students. During the first year, these two will be able to use our help, then they become completely independent.”

“Do you get why our position as prefects of freshmen is not so important?” Van Eyck chuckled. “We only count as trustworthy in the sixth year of our studies.”   
Koening shouted at him and then continued, “I hope you remember the basics,” she said grimly. “The main thing that you have to do this year is to prove yourself. This is the first step in your life.”  
She was silent for a moment, remembering what else to tell.  
“The only official division of students in Durmstrang is the year you are in. Each year has its own common room where students can get together. From the common room, there are exits to the bedrooms, each for three people. Unofficially, we are divided into various interest clubs and companies. The leaders of these associations do not have any power, but they do have a certain influence, the more people are under their responsibility, the more the leader has the opportunity to influence the student council. It just so happens that such groups also manage to get their own separate common room and bedrooms.”  
“By the way, only the heads and members of the student council are entitled to private bedrooms,” Jeremiah climbed in again, winking slyly at the guys.

“And what are the clubs?” asked one of the kids.  
“We have several Quidditch teams,” Koening said.   
“From time to time they compete with each other. There is a club for the study of necromancy and a sewing club. We have the most diverse interests at our school, and therefore we have the most diverse clubs.”  
The girl waited to see if more questions would follow, but there were none. Having decided that this was the end of the introduction, the prefects went to a table located in the far corner and began to swear in a whisper about something. Although both looked confident in front of the kids, they were actually really worried.  
Harry stayed where he was when the speech was over. The rest of the guys were already sitting in groups, talking about something, getting food, and taking books out of their bags.  
Harry felt redundant.   
He was openly afraid to approach any of the children, although he understood that it was necessary to make new acquaintances. However, it seemed to be impossible to overcome his fear…  
Harry had never really talked to his peers before, did not know how to play and talk about nonsense, because Dudley always scared away all his new friends as soon as they had time to appear.   
There was no cousin here, but Harry lacked the skills to make new acquaintances. He would have sat alone if the boy he knew had not quietly sat down in the chair next to him.  
“Bletchley,” Harry bowed his head in greeting, barely holding back a sigh of relief. He was almost happy because someone had approached him first.  
“Evans,” the boy Harry had seen in the clothing shop greeted him in the same way. Harry heard his voice for the first time - a little hoarse but pleasant.  
“Do you know anyone here?” Harry asked, trying not to let his voice betray his confusion.  
“Personally not,” Christopher replied indifferently. “I have never left England. But do you see the boy at the table by the window?”  
Harry looked where his new acquaintance pointed and saw a handsome dark-haired boy. He had large blue eyes and pleasant features. The boy was gesturing violently, telling something to his neighbors at the table. A rather large company of attentive listeners has gathered around him.  
“As I understand from the conversations,” continued Christopher, “that is Marius Black.”  
“Isn't the Black family an English family?” Harry wondered.  
“Yes, but he is from a side branch, a rather distant relative of the English Blacks. At the beginning of the last century, they moved either to Denmark or to Sweden,” explained Bletchley. “But since the main branch is almost extinct, it is quite possible that he will become the next lord of the House of Black. Plus he's handsome, pureblood, rich, and charming.”  
Harry chuckled at this characterization, remembering the spy movies Dudley loved. Painfully, he and Bletchley were now like the heroes of one of them. Nevertheless, he was serious in a serious situation and he needed information. 

“I also know a girl,” Christopher said suddenly, looking around the cabin. He nodded at the very little girl who had caught Potter's attention on the dock. It was her grandmother who lectured her. Now she was sitting with two other girls. They huddled together to say something to each other, but it was noticeable that the very girl was noticeably uncomfortable. “That is Romilda Lestrange, daughter of Bellatrix and Rudolphus Lestrange. I know for sure that she lives in Poland.”  
At that moment, their quiet conversation was interrupted by an angry scream from Black.  
A thin, pale boy jumped up from the sofa, although before that he was sitting next to Marius. Everyone jumped to the sides, and the boy, clearly not controlling himself, ran away from the group to the evil ridicule of some. His cheeks were red, his fists clenched and unclenched. For several minutes he stood in the middle of the room, trying to control himself, and then resolutely headed for a quiet corner of Harry and Chris. He sat down on the sofa opposite them, but not with them. The boy sat in silence for several minutes until the others lost interest in his hysterics, and then he turned his gaze to his neighbors. The boys silently looked at him.  
“I’m a half-blood, obviously not good company for the future Lord Black,” he explained in an irritated tone. His gaze was wary. Rightfully so, he had after all just been thrown out of the group and he was afraid of a repetition of that situation.  
"Me too," Harry shrugged. He cast a sidelong glance at Bletchley, but he did not respond to the confession. Evans' last name was too Muggle not to guess so at the first moment. The blonde cheered up when he heard this, and looked with great interest at his unwilling neighbors.  
“I'm Abraxas Malfoy!” he introduced himself.  
"A Malfoy is a half-blood?" Christopher was surprised, showing so much emotion for the first time in front of Harry.   
“My mom fell in love with a Muggle,” Abraxis winced. “And for that, she was kicked out of the house and burnt off the family tree. She and my dad left for France, and then I was born.”  
"But are you still a Malfoy?"  
“Well, we still live in the wizarding world, and here it is more profitable to be disgraced by the Malfoys than to wear an unknown Muggle name,” Abraxas shrugged. Harry and Christopher exchanged glances. They didn't even have time to introduce themselves, and this guy had already told them his whole life story. He, apparently, did not know how to keep his mouth shut.  
"I'm Harold Evans," Harry introduced himself. “This is my friend Christopher Bletchley. As far as I understood from the introduction, freshmen bedrooms are for three people. Does anyone mind moving in with me?”  
“Of course, I don’t mind!” Malfoy responded with satisfaction. Chris just nodded in confirmation. In the end, it was he who had first approached Harry, hoping for further acquaintance.  
The ship jerked gently again, announcing its arrival at their destination. The prefects rose from the table.  
“And now you will finally see your new school!” Jeremiah joyfully announced to everyone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, you won't be waiting too long to see Harry's start at school ;)   
> I'm hoping to get the next chapter up by Sunday but I have exams so I guess we'll see if that works out, either way, it will definitely be up sometime next week.   
> Anyways if you're enjoying the fic don't forget to give some kudos to the writer, I'm just translating this incredible fic into English :D


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